


Contrary Virtues, by Allie (bromance story challenge)

by hutchynstarsk



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, bromance story challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchynstarsk/pseuds/hutchynstarsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after the events of the episode "Smart Alec." Blair is grieving for his dead friend and mentor. Jim tries to help while dealing with his own issues, namely, his senses going haywire while he worries about Blair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contrary Virtues, by Allie (bromance story challenge)

written for [](http://bromancestory.livejournal.com/profile)**bromancestory**  
  
Master post: <http://bromancestory.livejournal.com/19366.html>  
  
Fandom: The Sentinel

Length: 8,287 words

Pairing: None

Warnings: None  
  
Beautiful art created by [](http://mella68.livejournal.com/profile)[**mella68**](http://mella68.livejournal.com/): <http://mella68.livejournal.com/147683.html> (Thank you!!)  
  


**Contrary Virtues**

by Allie

 

"You're very contrary, you know that, man?"  Blair Sandburg leaned on the kitchen counter and watched Jim Ellison preparing a pot of soup and a plate of crackers and cheese for them to eat.

"Oh yeah?  And why's that?"  He was speaking with that tolerantly amused inflection in his voice, as if he was both enjoying Blair's seriousness and not at all taking it seriously in return.  Sometimes, it seemed like the more serious Blair was the less serious Jim was; and sometimes the opposite, like they had to trade off.  Even if, to be honest, Blair spent a lot of time trying to shadow the sentinel's moods and behavior.  Like any anthropological work, a person had to give it their all and really commit to the lifestyle to get to understand the people involved.  But sometimes Jim didn't make it easy.

"Because, you pretty much just ignore me except when you're in mother hen mode."

"That's hardly fair."  But he still had that amused sound to his voice as he carried the hot soup pan over to the table, his attention all on it, as far as anyone could tell.  Most likely, he was actually smelling, sensing, and hearing absolutely everything within a block's radius, which took even more of his attention away from Blair.

"You're right, it's not fair.  And I'm not sick or anything, so you don't have to take care of me and cook me soup!"

"Were you going to eat if I didn't?" inquired Jim calmly.

Blair's mouth twisted into an unfamiliar frown.  He always tried to keep his cool, not let things bug him, take life easy.  Right now, he turned away.  That nameless frustration and anger filled him, the emotion he didn't really have words for.  That was as frustrating as anything; he should've been able to name and conquer these feelings, pin them to the wall like a big game trophy.  They didn't belong stuck inside him this way, wordless as big black clouds.

"Sit down, Chief."  Jim gave him a swat, a rather gentle swat, on the arm, and jerked his head toward a chair.  It was already pulled out.

Blair sat, sighing.  He leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers raking through his hair.  "I don't know, man.  It's just…"

Jim waited for him to continue.  When he didn't, he spoke.  "Since Professor Buckner died."

Blair jerked up, blinking at his friend.  "Shit, Jim.  You should be a counselor!"  He couldn't help the edge of a proud smile that touched his face.  But quickly, he sobered.  "What do you suggest I do about it, _Doctor Ellison?"_

Jim raised one eyebrow.  He was usually the one to employ sarcasm in an effort to keep his partner away.  But he didn't say anything about it, and didn't revert to type either.

 _Curiouser and curiouser,_ thought Blair. _It's as though we need to maintain a constant push-pull, or tug-of-war.  If I'm interested and happy and trying to find out more about him, he pushes me away.  If I push him away because I'm upset, he moves closer._

It made him think of some of the more naturalistic methods of horse training, first the keep-away, then the merging of individuals into a group….

Not that he needed anyone to tell him he and Jim were more or less already a unit.  He was practically the sentinel's shadow, and not just during their work and study together anymore.  Hell, he lived with the man and spent most of his free time with him as well.  Figuring out the sentinel had become as much obsession as work.  But not just figuring out the sentinel, figuring out and helping his _friend_.

Blair let out an explosive breath and averted his gaze from Jim.  Even thinking anthropological-type thoughts didn't help now.  That deep, welling chasm of darkness still threatened, swirling nearer and nearer.

"Hey, take your time, Chief," said Jim, getting up and heading back to the fridge.  "Grief hits everybody different ways."  His voice was deceptively calm and casual, but quite serious, too.

"Grief?"  Jim cleared his throat.  "What are you talking about?  He stole my statue, lied to me, and got killed when he was double-crossed by his associates."  He waved a hand vaguely in the air, for once finding words beginning to desert him.  And worse, his voice was tightening and growing rougher. Damn it!

"Didn't you say he was your advisor when you first went to college?"  Jim didn't turn around, but stood in front of the fridge like he was letting the cold out on purpose, wasting energy.  Either he was looking for something…or he was trying to give Blair his privacy.

_Or else he just doesn't want to see a grown man cry over a college professor._

He thought of all Jim had lost: his previous partner in the police force plus basically everyone he'd served with in the armed forces.

_Yeah, I guess the man knows a thing or two about grief.  I guess the guide just got guided._

"Excuse me.  I—I gotta go for a walk, man."  Looking away, he headed up

from the table and walked quickly toward the door.  He knew the lump in his throat and the dampness of his eyes wouldn't be hidden from Jim—there was no such thing as privacy around a sentinel, not really—but all the same, a man had his pride.

#

Jim followed at a discreet distance—a very discreet distance, considering his heightened senses let him track Blair from even further away than the rest of his training would've.  He was fairly certain no one could've guessed he was following the younger man at all.

A faint tint of embarrassment colored his emotions, but he quickly pushed it aside.  This wasn't about him being a 'mother hen,' whatever Sandburg said.  Truth be told, he spent a lot of time ignoring the observer or shutting him out deliberately.  Sandburg's intelligence, verbal abilities, and energy were part of what made this partnership work so well so far, but they could get a little annoying sometimes, too.  The man was always on; if he had a dial, it would always be turned up the whole way.  It was as though Sandburg simply couldn't get enough of seeing, hearing, learning and experiencing everything in the universe.  His rare moments of quiet were all because he was concentrating so hard, or because he was trying to help Jim by staying in the background and just watching instead of participating.  Or sometimes, because he was upset.

Jim usually had to shut him a little bit out just to get any work done.  It was all very well to have a happy puppy bouncing around, who always wanted something from you (usually uncomfortable discussions of experiments and controlled environments or personal stuff he didn't necessarily want to walk about at all).  But sometimes Jim had to concentrate; he couldn't let his buddy distract him.  Blair was all very well when you needed him, and when he learned to listen and stay in his place during police work, but sometimes he just needed to shut up.

Except, that when he did for more than a few minutes, Jim missed him talking.  So Jim got him talking again.  It usually didn't take much to draw

him out.  A few friendly words and smiles and the offer to include him in something—anything—and he would be back with a bounce in his step.  For a man who'd seen and done so much already in his young life, Blair still reacted sometimes like a kid who was just grateful to be noticed, grateful for a little bit of attention and kindness.  The man was genius-level bright, and he lit up at the least encouragement from Jim or Simon.

Whatever Blair wanted to say about not being bothered by a lack of a father, he certainly had latched onto older male support whenever possible.  Simon had developed a grudging respect for Jim's partner, but there was clearly nothing grudging about it on Sandburg's side.  He'd practically glowed that time Simon defending Jim's choices to Naomi.  He didn't even seem to mind being yelled at as much after that.

Then there was Jim, of course.  They had a special relationship, not quite teacher-and-student, but a little of both on each side.  Despite the kid getting on his nerves, and despite Jim bossing him around sometimes to keep him safe and help him get used to the life he was now more than halfway living, sometimes totally living, Jim hadn't managed to scare Blair off. Sandburg accepted the occasional jibe and bossiness with good humor and grace.  And kept talking and following Jim around and helping him in whatever way he needed.

He was much better than a puppy.  No piddling on the carpet and he could talk to you.  He could actually help a lot of the time.  And, if Jim was honest with himself, he relaxed better than he used to.  He could smile and enjoy Blair's company, when he wasn't too busy with other things.  The kid made a great distraction.

There was an age difference between them, and sometimes Jim like to emphasize it to help keep Sandburg in line and remind him of his place as an observer—and someone who should really stay out of the line of fire.  But in truth, not THAT many years separated them.  He didn't think he filled a father-figure role in Sandburg's life.  That would be a little odd, actually.

There was just something instinctive inside Blair that let him put up with

Jim, and bend like a reed in the wind, instead of snapping off like a branch in a hurricane.  He could deal with Jim's irrationality and the weirdness of his senses, when most people would run screaming in the other direction.

But a father-figure?  For an anthropologist?  That would be his teacher/advisor/mentor/professor.  Who was now dead.  Blair had admitted Professor Buckner helped him a lot to get his head on straight when he was an angry teenager only a little older and a little less bratty than Alec.

Jim thought about that, about Alec.  Jim had taken to Alec at first sight of him, actually.  Something had appealed to him about the kid who was trying so hard to impress while hackled up like an angry little kitten hissing at the world.  He only realized later, after Sandburg's confession (and, perhaps, after seeing how much the kid irritated Sandburg!), that it was because Alec reminded him of what a young Blair might've been like.  And…instead of being annoyed…he'd been amused.  He'd enjoyed the glimpse of Young Blair.  Though he'd never admit it to his partner, of course.  It wasn't exactly a flattering comparison.

Blair had come a far way from being a bratty kid.  He sucked it up, he took his knocks, and he moved on.  But sometimes a man had to grieve.  He'd seemed so closed off in the parking garage when they found Professor Buckner dead.  Like it hadn't touched him at all more than to sober him up a little bit.

Jim knew that way of coping, oh yes.  And Blair had done well for the rest of the case.  Extraordinarily well.  He'd even been able to keep up a cheerful exterior for Alec and let the kid play teacher for once, while Blair flailed around on roller blades.

Blair knew how to rollerblade.  He'd mentioned it in the past.  As much as Jim had been amused by the antics, he hadn't been fooled either.  Blair was just trying to help the kid out, to be a friend instead of a mentor—as Professor Buckner had told him to, before he died.

Jim enjoyed the younger man's boundless energy—it helped him keep up with Jim, too—but sometimes, he wondered if Sandburg was running to something or away from something.  There was sometimes a frenetic quality to his running, both verbal and physical.

Blair was walking faster now.  Jim could feel his distress even from here. Because in truth, he didn't need his logic or his own experience to tell him when Sandburg was in distress.  He just _knew_.

Cautiously, he began to close the distance.  It wasn't that he thought Sandburg didn't deserve his privacy—he could have his privacy, as much as he wanted—but if he was too upset to be taking care of himself and ended up getting into some kind of trouble (which, be honest, he seemed to be quite good at), well, Jim wasn't going to be sitting idly at home and waiting to find out the hard way.  No, he was going to damn well watch his partner's back.

Even though he knew they weren't quite partners in the traditional sense, Sandburg had been there for him, and he was certainly going to return the favor any time he could.

He remembered the sensation of Blair's grief from the time he'd fallen in love with the daughter of a drug dealer.  It hadn't ended well.  And Jim had been able to tell without looking at or listening to a word from his mouth just how upset Blair was.  He could hear it in his heartbeat—a certain strained difference, no matter whether going faster or slower than normal, or just the same—as if each beat, and each breath he took, was an ache inside him.  There was the smell of his tears, of course, but even the smell of his sweat was slightly altered.  It was as if Jim could sense the distress from every pore of his partner's body.  He'd tried to help by being friendly and trying to include Blair.  It had worked, eventually, but it took time for Blair to regain his normal joie de vivre and smiling, bouncy energy.

It was worse now.  His whole being seemed to not only vibrate with his grief, confusion, and anger, but almost to shout it out.

It was hard to concentrate on anything else with him like this.  He wasn't in the background, irritating and amusing and company and distraction; he was at the forefront of Jim's thoughts, every moment, the way he'd been when he was kidnapped by that crazy man, or any other time his life had been at risk so far.  This was Blair-in-distress, and it brought out the protective side of Jim.

Jim was very definitely a man who liked to fix things.  He knew this about himself, and knew how much it weighed on him when he couldn't.

When he couldn't keep his squad alive, even though he survived.

When he couldn't protect or defend or even avenge the people he was sworn to keep safe.

When he couldn't fix a marriage that just kept breaking steadily further until there was nothing left.  In truth, he never should've married in the first place, when he was still working through so much about the jungle and his time in the service.  It hadn't been fair to Carolyn, though he hadn't realized it at the time.  When the man she thought she married proved to have some very deep, very long cracks inside him, well, was it any wonder she needed her space?  That the marriage ended?

No, it wasn't.

But even when he couldn't fix things, he had to try.  And they'd given it a hell of a try with the marriage, counseling and everything, till he'd thought he'd scream at the slightest question about his feelings, or statement about listening with an open mind and heart and starting his conversations with "I feel…" statements.

Blair might focus on mumbo-jumbo a lot, but at least it sometimes helped.  And he shut up when Jim wanted him to—most of the time.

Right now, Jim didn't want him to shut up.  Or to go any further, because actually, he was heading into a rather bad part of town.  On foot.  After dark.

Jim closed the distance between them a little further, keeping his footsteps soft and light and quick.

…And he must have been zoning out a bit, because all of the sudden, his careful footsteps hit an empty beer bottle and sent it skittering away.  Ahead of him, Blair jumped visibly.  Jim heard his heartbeat and breathing speed up quickly.

Jim stopped instantly.  "It's just me, Sandburg!"

"Jim."  Blair sounded relieved and annoyed.  "I thought you might be following me."

Jim hesitated, then hurried to catch up with Blair.  They stood by a ratty warehouse, only dimly lit by a flickering street lamp.  Jim could hear the crazy buzzing inside the light bulb that meant it was about to go out.  On the glass over it, he heard insects thumping themselves.  They sounded really loud to him, like cats thumping into walls.  He winced inwardly.  Even their wing beats sounded loud, like big ceiling fans.

Blair's heartbeat began to slow down and his breathing to even out.

"Why did you think I'd follow you?" asked Jim, just for something to say.  Just to get Blair talking to him again.

Blair snorted.  "C'mon, man.  You've been worried about me all day."

"Well, yeah, I have."  He slung an arm around his partner's shoulders, hoping to cheer him up.  But even the affectionate touch didn't improve Blair's mood today.  True, he didn't push Jim off, but he didn't smile either.  He just stood there, staring into what to him must be nearly pure darkness.

Jim could see the cracks in the brickwork of the building opposite.  He could see the rat sitting down the alleyway beside it them and hear its loud chewing.  Someone's television blared, a low murmur to Blair if he could hear it at all, but a loud roar of laugh tracks and crude jokes to Jim.  He made an effort to filter it out, to focus on his partner instead.  Blair's sweat smelled more miserable than ever, perhaps because he'd been nearly running and there was more of it.  It almost hurt Jim's nose to smell him like this, to smell his distress so very clearly.

Blair's shoulders slumped.  "What do you want me to say?  That I'm all right?"

"No.  Just talk to me, if you want to.  If not, at least don't put yourself in danger.  This isn't a very good neighborhood, Chief."  He gave Sandburg a pat on the stomach and slowly steered him around and began to walk with him back home.  Blair went along without complaining.

They got home and inside.  Jim turned the lights off, only left one of the softer ones on, because everything looked too bright in here.  He could hear the hum of the fridge, loud as a B52 engine.  He winced at the sound and struggled to turn his hearing down.

Blair cast him a surprised look, one tinged with concern.  "Your senses bothering you, man?"  He reached for a kitchen towel and swiped it over the back of his neck, wiping away some of his sweat.  He must've already wiped away the tears, because there was no wetness on his face, even though Jim knew for certain he'd been crying earlier.

Jim shrugged.  "A bit.  I keep turning them down, but they keep turning themselves back up."

Blair walked over to him and looked up into his face, searching his gaze.  "Well, you're in hyper vigilant mode, aren't you?  No wonder they're acting up."  He gave Jim a pat on the chest.  "Would you quit worrying about me, buddy?  It's touching and all, but really unnecessary."  He started to turn away again.

Jim caught his arm gently and turned him round again.  "Sure thing, Chief.  I'll quit worrying about you if you'll sit down for a minute with me on the couch."  He released Sandburg and spread his arms.  "If you want to talk, we'll talk.  If you just want to be quiet for a few minutes, we can do that, too."

Blair gave him a skeptical look, and then smiled suddenly.  It made his face light up ruefully, a look Jim liked to see—his good nature reasserting itself.  His shoulders were already a little less slumped.  The other signs weren't there yet, but maybe they were on the way.

Blair shook his head gently.  "Jim, you are so going to regret that!  Because I really do need to talk to somebody right now, and well, you might just get more than you asked for in the gut-spillage department."

"That's fine, Chief."  He steer Blair gently toward the couch and got them both seated and crossed his arms.  "You say what you need to say."

"You sure?  Because usually you just want me to shut up."

"That's hardly fair, Chief."

"Maybe I don't feel like being very fair right now."  He buried his head in his hands, shaking his head slightly.  He looked like he was in pain.  The very sound of his heartbeat confirmed it.  "Oh man, where do I start?"

"Start?   It's just one thing, surely.  Losing your mentor."

"Well, yeah, and no, man.  I mean, that's part of it.  A big part.  But now the whole thing looks so much bigger."  He took a deep, shaky breath and straightened up, rubbing a hand over his face and frowning.  "The dad thing…yeah, I lied.  It bothered me, not knowing who I could count on, other than Mom."

He took a deep breath.  "When I figured out the men in my mom's life weren't going to be there for very long, I changed it into a kind of game—a way of studying people.  See how much I could get from them, like the baseball games and gifts.  Made it easier when they left.  I still have some case notes I wrote at that age, studies of subjects and their different and similar reactions.  I got good enough that I could predict when they'd leave to within a few weeks.

"Professor Buckner was an anchor for me for a while when I was an angry kid.  He helped me find my passion and grow up a little.  Don't laugh!"

Jim spread his hands placidly.  "I wasn't going to."

"Hmm.  Well, now he's gone, too.  Damn it, he's gone, too.  And he wasn't even who I thought he was in the first place, or he wouldn't have lied to me and used my artifact for smuggling.  It's just gotten all way too serious.  I'm behind on my school responsibilities, always playing catch-up, and at the same time trying to keep you out of danger and help with the sentinel stuff.  And study.  And help solve crimes.  And observe without crossing the line that has Simon kick me out.  I don't know how much more I have to give.  I'm tired, man.  I'm tired of not being good enough anymore, at anything.

"I don't fit anywhere!  I don't fit at school anymore, I don't fit at your work.  I just don't fit.  I'm an anthropologist.  I'm supposed to be able to study cultures and fit myself into them.  I'm supposed to be able to transcend my own limitations and step into another world to learn and grow and study and live and experience.  And I'm just stuck in limbo."

Jim shifted uncomfortably on the couch, keeping his arms crossed, his expression neutral. "You're burning the candle at both ends too often. Why don't you stay home sometimes and not observe, and I'll just call you if I need your advice?"

Blair raised his hands, giving an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, but no, that's the thing, man! Because you don't. You don't call me! I have to guess and…and convince you to accept help, because you're too tough for your own good." He spread his hands wide. "I've got nothing, Jim. I'm just…out of anything to give."

Now Jim's heartbeat sounded loud in his own throat. And he could both feel and smell a panicked sweat from himself. He willed his mouth to stay shut, and forced himself to keep listening, to hear Blair all the way out.

 _Worse than counseling. I never should've got him started talking. Now I'm letting him talk himself out of helping me._ The thought was surprisingly devastating. _Thought we already went through this, Chief? You decided not to go do a jungle study or whatever. You were going to stay here and help me._

Blair just kept talking. "For a while, I felt like I could keep the parts of my life separate: your work, and my duties at school. But I can't. People are dying right and left. Now it's Professor Buckner. Who's next? You? My mom? Simon? Someone else from my work, or my personal life? Or maybe just everybody, altogether!" He shook his head. "I'm used up, Jim. Burned out."

Jim frowned at him, sitting up straighter. "Well, what do you expect is going to happen when you effectively hold down two jobs at once? Now would you look at me? C'mere. Look at me. Nobody else is going to die. You hear me, Chief? I won't let them."

Blair looked at him. Really looked at him. He seemed to see and hear Jim, not just push his words aside. At last he nodded, looking down at the coffee table. His voice was quieter now. "Yeah, I know you will. You're a sentinel, after all. You protect people." He got up and sighed, running hands back through his hair. "I don't know what's wrong with me tonight. I guess I'm just tired."

Jim rose too, caught his forearm and squeezed gently. "You're dealing with a lot. Why don't you go to bed early and I'll clear up the dishes, okay Chief?" He met Sandburg's gaze again, and the younger man nodded in a disheartened manner.

"Yeah. I'll do that. Thanks Jim." He gave Jim a quick squeeze of the arm. "Thanks for caring."

He headed off to his bedroom, his head down, even his footsteps sounding discouraged.

 _Even if he quits following me, he'll have to stay here till he gets his own place,_ thought Jim. _I'll still have him around at night._

And then he felt ashamed of himself, because, really, shouldn't Blair's pain be the uppermost in his mind right now, not whether Jim was inconvenienced?

The anthropologist probably didn't even know Jim used the sound of Blair's heartbeat to put himself to sleep many nights. The rhythm was a surprising comfort and a familiar anchor to keep him safe.

He needed some sense of safety more than ever lately, with his senses doing strange things, all the time something new. Sometimes he could ignore it and forge ahead, do what needed done. But at night, so often as his barriers came down and he drifted toward sleep, things overwhelmed him. He needed something to hang onto. Little as he liked to admit it to himself, that something was Blair more times than not.

At night, Blair was quiet. At least, more or less quiet. Sometimes he studied or puttered around in the kitchen or wrote or graded papers till the wee hours of the morning, but he was always there. His heartbeat and lungs and quiet presence were so very welcome to ground Jim.

And what kind of selfish bastard wanted to keep someone here just for his own convenience? If Blair was unhappy, then only a jerk would try to convince him to stay. Jim sighed, a wave of sorrow hitting him. He tamped it down and schooled his features.

_If he needs to move on, I'll help him find a place of his own._

But maybe, just maybe, this was really all about the grief and being tired and disillusioned. Maybe things would look better in the morning, and Blair wouldn't really need to leave.

Jim could only hope for the best.

Jim cleaned up with quick efficiency, took a quick shower (grimacing at the  
pummeling of water flung against his skin), and dried off on an achingly rough towel. He went to bed naked, because clothing was chafing on his skin right now. He closed his eyes, tuned in on Sandburg's heartbeat, and slept, glad to be able to turn off for a few minutes and just rest.

Dreams followed him, and they were unpleasant dreams. Instead of the professor, Sandburg had been the one involved in smuggling—either blackmailed or bribed into it, they weren't sure which yet—and he was the one who ended up dead. Sandburg, in his car, a pipe running from his exhaust pipe up to his car's window to make it look like suicide.

Jim tossed and turned. Even in his dream, he could both feel and smell the nervous sweat he was breaking out into, and it irritated his skin and nostrils. The bedroom smelled of wood and metal and cloth and the detergent he washed his sheets and clothes with. It smelled of fresh air leaking in from the streets under the window that didn't seal perfectly. The sheets were rough against his skin, bruising like the princess with the pea that everyone laughed about, because who could possibly be that sensitive?

 _I guess she was a sentinel, too,_ he thought, as he finally pulled himself up and awake. He flung his sheet aside and stalked across the room, pushing aside a curtain to stare out at the dark street below. The wood grain was rough against the pads of his fingers and palms of his hands as he peered out. He didn't need dawn to see. He pushed the window open and sniffed. He smelled fast food from a mile away, the restaurant that never closed. He smelled cat pee from down the block, the dandelions growing in the cracks of the sidewalk below, asphalt, faint car fumes, and stale urine from someone or something that had gone in the alley out back. He wrinkled his nose; no, someone: someone who'd had a lot to drink, his pH all messed up with booze.

He grimace and shut the window to close out the reek. _I've got to get these senses turned down so that they stop turning back up by themselves!_ He took another sniff of the air in his room to clear out that disgusting smell of urine mixed with half-stale French fry grease—and stopped.

_Sandburg. What the hell?_

He started from the room, barely remembering to grab some pajama trousers and drag them on. He hurried to Sandburg's room, where the smell was stronger yet. Fear and grief sweat. And Blair's heart was pounding again, so hard…

 _Why didn't I notice?_ Jim berated himself silently as he moved into Sandburg's room and stopped beside his bed. Maybe that's why I couldn't sleep. _Why didn't I check on him right away instead of zoning out on the smells outside?_

He stared down at Sandburg. He looked younger asleep, his hair all wild and askew, his defenses lowered completely. A frown troubled his usually-smooth forehead. As Jim watched, Blair rolled uncomfortably on his side, frowning, and kicked at the sheets with one foot, as if instinctively trying to free himself. His sweat smelled of grief and fear and anxiety, and his heart was beating harder than it should've been for as deeply as he was asleep.

Jim lowered a hand and put it on Blair's shoulder. He didn't clamp a hand over his mouth that way he'd once woken Blair, and then regretted it. True, someone had been sneaking up on the house, it could've been a dangerous situation, and he'd wanted his partner by his side. Even though afterwards, when he thought about it, it would've made more sense for Blair to stay in the loft and sleep through whatever happened—or else to sit up and call the police, not follow Jim. After all, Blair didn't have a gun or Special Forces training.

But most of all, as soon as he did it, he'd been regretfully aware of the spike of fear that shot through Blair at being wakened that way. Now, he hoped a hand on the shoulder wouldn't provoke the same response.

"Chief," said Jim, and Blair's eyes popped open.

"What?" His heart thumped loudly and his gaze trained on Jim, anxious and alert, ready to follow his lead—to follow him into hell and back.

"Nothing." Jim sat down on the bed, giving his partner a pat on the stomach. "Just sounded like you were having a nightmare, that's all. I thought I should wake you."

"Huh?" Blair reached up to scratch back through his rowdy and wild hair, blinking at Jim. It was strange to see him sort of out of it. Sometimes it seemed like he was always on his top game. "Yeah, um, thanks man. I was." He reached up to squeeze Jim's arm, and also to move it aside so he could sit up.

Jim withdrew. Hadn't realized he was still pressing down lightly on Blair's chest, rubbing lightly. He just wanted to make sure Blair was okay. But there seemed to be little more he could do now.

"So are you all right now, Chief?" he asked briskly, rising. Indeed, Blair's heart rate and breathing were evening out, and if the air still reeked of his sweat, at least he looked much calmer now that he was awake.

"Yeah, much better. Thanks." He sat up and sighed, raking his hands back through his hair again and looking slightly lost for a moment. He reached for his glasses and put them on, moved his legs under the sheet and slid out from the under it. He wore white cotton socks and baggy dark blue pajamas over a white cotton undershirt. Jim could hear the slight sound of its fibers rubbing against his nipple ring. Jim had asked once how Jim knew; asked indignantly, like it was none of his business. Well, if it was none of Jim's business, then it shouldn't be so damned loud.

"You're getting up?" asked Jim, not because it was really any of his business, but just because he wanted to know.

"Yeah, I think I'll have some tea and grade some papers."

"We can watch some TV if you want," offered Jim. "Just keep it turned low."

Reaching for his bathrobe to pull over his pajamas, Blair turned to gape at  
him. "After _ten_?" His voice held incredulous disbelief.

Jim shrugged. "We can break my rules once in a while."

Blair shook his head, belting the bathrobe tightly around his waist. "No thanks, man. I don't want to hear about it for the next six weeks!"

Somehow, those words gave Jim a reassured feeling. If he meant to be around for the next six weeks to hear anything, it had to be a good thing.

"Besides," continued Sandburg. "I have some papers to grade. I'm falling behind on my work at the university."

"About that, Chief." Jim followed him downstairs, his bare feet ginger on the cold steps. "I was thinking, you should take a few days off, recuperate your energy."

Sandburg shook his head. "No way, man. Even if I could arrange it, it would just mean I had twice as much work piled up when I got back. I don't really have anyone to take over for me." He moved to the stove and picked up the kettle. The sound of him filling it at the sink sounded loud in Jim's ears, like a rushing waterfall instead of a kitchen sink. He grimaced and put his hands over his ears.

_What is with me tonight? This is getting old._

"You okay, Jim?" Blair turned back to look at him, his gaze concerned. His glasses glinted, reflecting a faint touch of the low light; it made Jim wince too. He turned away, ashamed of himself for having so little control.

 _I never wanted to be a sensitive man. And now I am, too damned sensitive to everything. And not about things that matter, either. People still die on my watch. I still lose people. I couldn't keep my wife in my life, and I can't even keep my annoying researcher and friend, either. And why can't those cars just be quiet for once?_ He gritted his teeth at the distant traffic sounds, still so very loud to him.

"Jim, hey man, talk to me." Then Blair was there, with his voice soft and his hands light and gentle on Jim's arms. He looked up into Jim's face, searching with concern. "You all right? It's your senses again, isn't it?"

Jim nodded. He didn't quite trust himself to speak.

"Here, siddown man." Blair steered him tenderly as a child toward the couch. "Sit here. Concentrate on breathing, okay? Just breathe."

"I…I can't…turn it down," said Jim through gritted teeth.

"Don't worry about that right now. Think about breathing. In, out. Just breathe, man." He gave Jim a light pat on the arm. "I'm gonna get us some tea."

Jim regretted Blair's absence immediately, but he focused on his exercise of breathing dutifully. He listened with everything inside him to Blair's movements, even as he kept his eyes shut. Light footfalls; the brief click of the stove turning on; the faint pop of the kettle's metal beginning to heat and stretch. A clatter of two cups on a metal tray, and the sound of the cupboard as Blair got out one of his teas. On his next breath, Jim got a whiff of it from here: that pungent, herby tea that smelled of ginger and mint as well as old weeds from Jim's childhood. He didn't know the names, but he'd smelled it before.

"Here we go, man. Now just let this seep for a bit, and then have some. It's a tonic. Should be really calming. There's chamomile and nettle and all kinds of good stuff in there." He gave Jim another pat on the arm.

Jim opened his eyes, taking another deep sniff. "And ginger? And peppermint?"

Blair smiled at him, one of his whole-face smiles. "Spearmint, but close enough, man! You're really good! Here, now you want to tell me what's going on and we'll work through it?"

Jim stared at his friend. His…partner. Yes. Work through it together.  
That's what was going to happen. Even if Sandburg thought he was going to leave. Well, he wasn't. Jim wasn't giving him up. They'd work through things together, find a way to make it all fit, so Blair could belong somewhere and make his life work without Jim having to lose him.

_And if that means I'm on my own more at work, then okay._

He covered Blair's hand on his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. "It's basically all of my senses," he admitted. "I keep trying to turn them down or tune them out, but they keep going back up near a hundred percent."

"All right, well let's work on turning them down one by one, see if that works. But get in your happy place first, man. More deep breaths…"

Jim closed his eyes again and followed his partner's advice.

After while he spoke, opening his eyes and looking around himself with surprised relief. "They're going down. I don't have to keep fighting them. I think it's working, Sandburg."

"Of course it's working," said Blair. "That's my job, to help you work right." He got up, carrying the empty mugs back to the sink. But he looked and sounded proud of himself.

Jim leaned back on the couch, lacing his fingers together behind his head. "You're like the technician."

"I'm the technical support. Hey, don't knock it. Maybe you can get some sleep now and stop worrying about me." He wandered back to the couch and gave Jim a light, friendly swat on the arm.

"Should I worry about you, Chief?" Jim looked up at him, capturing his gaze, willing him to meet it steadily.

Sandburg did, wavering only a moment. Then he looked away again. "Yeah, I think so. It's nice to know I'm still useful." He spoke very quietly, with a heavy, sad note creeping into his voice.

 _He's not over everything, then._ "You're always useful. Don't ever doubt that." Jim got up. "I'm heading to bed. It's late. Don't stay up too long, okay?"

"I'm just going to get a little work done. If I try to go back to sleep right away, I might have a nightmare again."

"Sounds reasonable. If you need to talk, you know where I am, okay Chief?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "Okay, Dr. Ellison!" He reached for his books, still grinning.

#

Blair stretched. Sunlight shone into the loft. He lay on his side on the couch. Someone had thrown a blanket over him and shut his books and neatly stacked them on the coffee table.

Blair stretched and yawned, enjoying the hedonistic moment of waking. For a moment, no cares and worries crowded either his head or heart. He had a feeling some were close, but for a moment, blessed peace reigned.

Then he heard Jim's SUV starting up, and his eyes flew open.

_Wait. No! What? Jim!_

Scrambling to his feet, Blair started from the loft at a run. In his pajamas. The ties of his bathrobe trailing at his feet. "Wait! Jim! Stop!" He waved his hands, shouting at the top of his lungs as Jim's vehicle pulled away.

"Jim!" Blair cupped his hands and barked through them. "Stop!"

 _Damn it, man!_ He glared in frustrating after the departing vehicle, and was just about to turn back to go call Jim's cell phone, when the car stopped. It backed up, almost as quickly as it had been driving forward, which took some skill. It didn't surprise him Jim could do that, though.

Blair glared at the approaching vehicle. So much for that theory. His whole push-pull embryonic theory from last night hadn't worked out so well. Here he'd been thinking it might be a good idea to manufacture a little extra tension between them sometime just to test it, to see if Jim would work extra hard to get back a peaceful and friendly relationship. But the theory was clearly flawed somewhere; despite Blair's low mood lately and Jim's efforts at mother-henning, Jim had been ready to leave without him.

 _There is a definite flaw somewhere._ But he didn't have time to come up with alternate theories right now. Besides, if he was honest with himself, he didn't really want to experiment on his friendship with Jim. He just liked to enjoy it without having to pick it apart.

Jim stopped the car beside him and rolled down his window. "Yeah, Chief?" He was looking calmly in control this morning, patient but no-nonsense, his usual attitude when getting ready to go to work.

"Just what the hell, Jim?" asked Blair, his voice rising a little the way it did sometimes when he was upset. He raised his hands, palms up. "Give me a chance to get ready!"

Jim reached up and rubbed his nose. "Yeah, about that, Chief. You're not coming today. You need to rest. I'll be fine on my own."

"No, you won't. You sit there and let me get changed." He pointed sternly at Jim. "Man, a guy sleeps in a few minutes late and you tiptoe around and sneak out. Shows who your friends are!"

He was still grumbling as he hurried back, wincing a little at walking in his stocking feet.

How dare Jim? It was one thing for Blair to blow off a little steam and admit to some of his insecurities. It was a whole other thing for Jim to tiptoe around, leaving without him—and most importantly, leaving himself without backup! He didn't really have anyone else who understood his gifts and challenges. What, was Simon suddenly going to start helping him?  
Hardly. And nobody else 'got it' even as much as Simon did.

Blair got ready in record time, even for him. He wondered if Jim was actually going to wait for him, but yes, he was still there by the curb when Blair rushed out, dragging along a backpack and half a bagel.

"So why didn't you wake me?" He got into the car, slung his bag on the floor at his feet, balanced his bagel on his knee and reached for his seatbelt, struggling to get it clicked into place as Jim pulled onto the road.

Jim's voice was calm, level and utterly reasonable—his guaranteed piss-you-off voice that said he was right about everything and it wasn't even worth _thinking_ you might know something, because he had all the world's wisdom sucked up inside his brain. "I told you. You needed to rest."

"So you sneak around. That's underhanded!"

"I was worried about you, Chief. You can't keep burning the candle at both ends."

"Yeah. About that." He pointed to his backpack. "That's why I brought some papers along. Just find me a quiet spot and I'll double down and put in more work at the precinct on grading today. I'll catch up eventually."

They stopped at a red light and Jim sent him a look. A weighing look.

"What? What does that mean? Why are you giving me that look, man?" demanded Blair.

Jim shook his head slightly. "You don't recall our conversation at all from last night? You were ready to quit."

Blair took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Nah, I was blowing off steam. Besides, don't you remember our conversation from last night? You were all hopped up on your Sentinel Powers. They were freaking out on you, man. Admit it. You need me!" He reached over and poked Jim on the arm.

And Jim grinned.

He revved the engine, and as the light turned green, the vehicle shot forward, shoving both men back into their seats. Jim reached over and grabbed the bagel before it could finish sliding off Blair's knee.

"Whoa!" said Blair, half laughing, half annoyed as he grabbed for the handhold on the door. "Don't get us _both_ killed!"

Jim handed the bagel back, a small grin playing on his mouth.

#

From afar, Jim Ellison watched his partner sitting in a quiet conference room, papers and books spread around him, his head down on top of them. Asleep. Probably drooling on the work, and would complain later and ask "Why didn't you wake me?"

But Jim wouldn't have wakened him for the world.

He and Sandburg were alike in some ways, when he thought about it. They both had to stay busy. It was almost like a compulsion. Jim because it was hard to relax, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to be out there, protecting people to make up for all the times he'd failed.

He needed to do what he needed to do. He needed to matter, to use each day to help someone or fix something or just make the world a little bit safer.

And Blair needed to stay busy because he was too smart and energetic to sit still or stop thinking and asking questions. If he didn't pile an inhuman amount of work on himself, he got bored. Even when relaxing, he went at it full speed ahead, often doing three or four things at once. The man's brain worked on a different level than most people's, a very active level, and the rest of his life reflected that. Creative chaos, his 'muse' process, wouldn't work for many people. Most people couldn't burn the candle both ends and still make it work. But for Blair, when he wasn't grieving, he needed the stimulating challenge of it. It was his rush, his endorphin high. And it was better to let him overload himself with work in a controlled environment (more or less) than to do so in a jungle somewhere, without Jim as backup.

Blair would especially need to stay busy while he was grieving for Professor Buckner, Jim decided. And yes, maybe it was a little selfish to decide that without asking Blair. Maybe Blair's depressed speech last night had been more correct than he wanted to know.

But for now, he got to keep his partner, and they'd figure out the rest later. It had lifted his heart to see Blair running after the truth this morning, bathrobe flapping, so pissed off with him for leaving without Blair. He couldn't want to leave very badly when he felt that way about things.

The sound of Blair's calm, steady heartbeat followed Jim as he headed away from the conference room and to Simon's office. It followed him even here, a steady anchor to keep him sane throughout the chaos of a busy day at the precinct.

Jim would look after Blair till he was feeling better, less overwhelmed, sad, and full of questions. The decaf Jim had slipped him instead of the usual hair-curling precinct coffee would help with the rest, anyway. Yep, Jim decided. A little extra sleep, a little extra care, and his puppy-dog happy Blair would be back.

The whole leaving thing might happen someday, but Jim preferred to believe the partnership was going to continue working as well as it had. At least for now, and now was all any of them really had.

"And just what is funny?" demanded Simon, interrupting his own sentence and staring sternly at Jim.

"Nothing, sir," said Jim in his most serious voice, trying to keep the edges of his mouth from twitching up any further.

He couldn't exactly tell his boss he'd just heard Blair start to snore from all the way in the conference room. Or that the sound made him positively want to laugh aloud.

 

>>


End file.
